Last Day on Earth
by AKA DD
Summary: SPOILER: 5.10 Abandon All Hope: Hands are shaking time was never on our side, there's no such thing as a beautiful goodbye. So this was what it was like to die.


**Last Day on Earth**

**Disclaimer: Supernatural isn't mine.**

**A/N: I always thought Abandon All Hope was amazing. I still cry watching that episode. This is my little tribute to that.

* * *

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_My hands are shaking time was never on our side  
And there's no such thing as a beautiful goodbye_

So this is what it felt like to die.

Jo gritted her teeth as she let the realization sink in to her very bones. It numbed her. It numbed the throbbing pain on her side, made her forget that the warmth spreading around her midsection was the life draining out of her. It dulled the tangy, rusty scent of fresh blood. The sounds around her became hollowed: the desperate words of comfort from her mother, the sounds of the boys dashing through the store in an effort to do anything but watch her die.

Because Jo knew that this was it. This was _really_ it.

"_This is our last night on earth."_

Castiel's voice, soft and matter-of-fact reverberated through her mind, bouncing back, teasing her with the reality of his statement.

It was always in the back of their heads on every hunt they went on. It was always something that haunted them, kept them wary. It was also always something that they never _really _took entirely too seriously.

It wasn't supposed to be true. No one wanted to really believe it.

Because if they did—_oh_, _God_, they'd do so many things differently.

_She_ would do _everything_ differently.

She would have lived.

Her eyes, unbidden, rested on Dean. He was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His brow was furrowed. She wanted to reach out and smooth it with her hand. She wanted to lay a kiss on that brow. She wanted to tell him that he was a _good_ man, that there was nothing about him that he should ever change.

But, _oh God_, she would never have the chance.

Now, all she had left was to be brave. On her last day on earth, she was going to be brave. She was going to do this right. She was going to give him the only thing she had left to give.

She was going to give him a chance to live.

* * *

Dean unrolled the wire for the detonator slowly, focusing on the way the line fell to the floor, focusing on anything but her. Finally he reached her.

She was so small, lying there, slumped against the wall. He tried to ignore the slick puddle of blood that circled her. But how could he?

She was going to _die_.

"Okay, this is it," he murmured. His throat felt too tight, his voice was even darker and raspier than ever. _This is it_. He had faced death before. He had been to hell and back. And yet it hadn't been as bad as looking at Jo watching her be brave as she gave him a trembling smile and a small nod.

She was holding back tears, for god's sake! She shouldn't have to hold back those tears, dammit. He gave her a tight smile. "I'll see you on the other side," he whispered. "Probably sooner than later."

He saw her fight the pain and give him a cocky little smile as she picked up her shotgun and entrusted it to him. "Make it later?" she quipped, her voice tight and breathless with pain.

He took the shotgun from her, not able to look her in the eye anymore. He held her gun. This was _hers_—it was what made her the hunter. And she was giving it to him. This was really it. He felt like he was suffocating, the grief inside of him was surprisingly painful, expanding inside of him until he didn't know if he could take a breath without breaking into a sob.

He picked up her limp hand in his. Her hand was small and slender. And so cold. He wanted to hold it in between both of his and share his warmth. But he knew it would do no good. He slowly placed the detonator in her hand, closing her fingers around the device purposefully.

This—detonator in her hand, her hand wrapped in his—this was _real_. This was it. He finally looked up at her.

For the first time, he saw her.

He _really _saw her.

And she was beautiful.

Dean cradled her face in his hands. She was trembling. She was cold as ice, her cheeks soft, a pale bluish tint dusted over them. Her hair, a dirty blond, curled around his hands. So soft, so fine. Her eyes, had he ever really looked into her eyes before? They were blue—startlingly enough—such a dark blue that they were almost black.

And they were terrified.

Dean knew she was exactly who she had always wanted to be. He wanted to tell her that she had become the hunter she had always wanted to be. And he wanted to tell her that he was so proud of her.

But all he could do was look at her. There was so much more. There _should _have been so much more. But he didn't know where to start and it was over now anyway.

He quickly leaned in and placed a kiss on her forehead. He wanted to tell her that he did see her. He wanted to tell her that she would flit through his thoughts on warm sunny days because it reminded him of her hair. He wanted to tell her that sometimes he wished he _had_ called her, but time had slipped past him and before he knew it…they didn't have time left.

He pulled away and looked at her.

It was almost impossible to say goodbye when he wasn't even sure what he had just found. Before he could change his mind he leaned in again.

This time he kissed her.

He pressed his lips fully against hers. He poured everything he wished he could have told her into that kiss. She kissed him back with everything that was left in her.

Dean felt shaken.

Never had a kiss meant so much.

He pulled away quickly and for the briefest moment, he laid his head against hers. "Bye," he murmured in a hurried whisper, knowing he was no good at goodbyes. In a heartbeat, he was gone.

* * *

Jo leaned back against the wall and watched Dean leave.

On her last day on earth, she found out what it would have been like if she could have lived.


End file.
